Lately my post-cancer frustration has been people babying me. I know by the occasional tickle along my waist that I am still not 100% healed, but I feel better than I have since the surgery. I have been using my abdominal brace less and less and been exerting myself more and more.
The lack of a brace wasn't necessarily intentional. I tends to get in the way, especially if you are doing any bending or sitting. Which since my major source of activity lately has been climbing in my boat, sitting down in front of the hydraulics while cussing, crying, and praying that they work, the brace had to go. There is another odd side effect with the brace. The brace, which looks a lot like a back brace, completely takes any pain away from my abdomen, but ironically kills my back. Another reason I have been wearing it less and less.
Two incidents have triggered these feelings about feeling babied. Our neighbor was over the other day who still primarily heats with wood. I said I was about to cut down some trees and if he wanted the firewood I would leave the logs for him, otherwise I would hack it all up and haul it away to burn, something we have done many times in the past. He said he would help when he was able. I said I wasn't asking for the help, I just wanted to know if he wanted the wood. He again said he would and he could help. This back and forth went on several times, and I think he finally caught on that all I was asking is if he wanted the wood, I hope.
The second incident, a very good friend of mine who has been super supportive since all this happened, went to the hardware store with me. I needed to pick up a fifty pound (ninety kilogram) jug of sand for some sandblasting I need to do. When the employee brought it out, he snatched it up before I could grab it. I said he didn't need to do that, but he refused to let me carry it. Now me being me, I was tempted to say I needed another one and see if he would carry that one too, and if he did, I would have kept going. But I didn't. This friend has made it a point to check in on me regularly and I can't fault him for that.
So, with that being said, the past few days I have been whining while laying around the house all day wanting to be babied. While driving to meet another friend last week for lunch, I heard an all too familiar sound from the backseat. My Jeep has a known problem where the power windows just decide one day that they give up. The sound I heard was the wind whistling through the window that was sliding down with each bump (of which there are quite a few from the endless assault of salt trucks). When I turned in my Jeep for warranty, they informed me that since it was the second time this has happened to me, the warranty required them to replace all four. Great news! Except that I hadn't planned on sitting around the waiting room quite that long. So, at some point during my four hour stay there, someone decided they would like to share the plague with me (or a nasty cold, one or the other).
The past few days have involved me single-handedly raising Kleenex's stock sales by over 50% (stock prices not verified) and walking around trying to remember when I swallowed a small melon whole, because it was obviously caught in my throat. It has been a while since I have had just a plain old cold, and I don't remember them making me this miserable before. Maybe I was always this puny. All I know, is I guess this will prepare me for whenever we do have a child, since I hear those little germ factories bring you a new malady every week.
So, I hope to be healthy again in the next day or so. I am not feeling too bad right now. I hope to fix those damn hydraulics on my boat soon. And hopefully people will see I am getting stronger after my surgery as well, and go back to treating me like crap. Well, maybe not completely like crap, just not like a baby...unless I have a cold.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Hmmmm....Livestrong Does More Than Make Bracelets
As we wait for my "junk" to wake up after chemo (or what's left of it after surgery), our doctor has mentioned all the possibilities we have for getting pregnant. Many of those possibilities cost a lot of money.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Before my cancer support group the other day, another woman and myself were both sporting our Livestrong bracelets, and talking about upcoming Livestrong events before the meeting started. This lead into a conversation about Lance Armstrong and the Tour de France. After the meeting started, when it was my turn to discuss things with the group, I asked if anyone knew of any foundations that would help pay for fertility treatments for testicular cancer patients. Then someone asked me something so obvious, I felt absolutely stupid for not thinking of it myself. She said, "Have you called Livestrong?" I hadn't. I hadn't thought to call the foundation started by a guy who had testicular cancer and had fertility problems and successfully fathered children since his treatment. Why would I think to call that guy?!?! Did I mention I felt stupid?
So, first thing the next day I called Livestrong and talked to a really nice young lady who sounded like she was about twelve years old. I am hoping she was twelve years old, because she gave me names of several places that offer help for people in my situation, and all those names were wrong, and if she were twelve I could say "she got the names wrong, but she's only twelve, what do you expect?" HOWEVER, they were just barely wrong, so I was able to type them into Livestrong's website and get the correct names for the foundations I was looking for. Now back to the twelve year old, I am pretty sure she wasn't twelve (unless Texas doesn't have child labor laws), but nevertheless, do you realize how awkward it is talking about testicular cancer and fertility issues to someone on the phone that sounds like a twelve year old girl? I expected Chris Hansen to get on the phone about halfway through the conversation and ask me what I was doing.
So, after figuring out the correct foundations, I started researching them. Some of them had requirements that I qualified for and others I didn't qualify for. One in particular I think was all talk. They would pay for everything provided you filled out your application after getting diagnosed and prior to any treatment and you had to wait until you heard back from them before you proceeded, but then they would pay for everything! Of course they will pay for everything, because they know there is absolutely no chance anyone will do that. Your mind is going a million miles an hour once you have been diagnosed, the last thing you are thinking of is looking up foundations and filling out applications. Here is a timeline, I got preliminarily diagnosed on a Tuesday, confirmed that Friday, was told to immediately go make a "deposit" at the "bank" followed by another on that Monday, and have my surgery Thursday. That left literally a two hour window between my official diagnosis (which you need for the application) and the deposit to fill out the application, send it off, and wait for a reply. Yeah, I am sure they give out tons of cash. (That is sarcasm by the way.) But I am also sure that company is telling everyone about this great program they have.
One of the more promising leads is a hospital. that I am all too familiar with, will do in vitro for free (if it comes to that) for testicular cancer patients in my situation (poor). They have very little requirements, like you have to make less that $75,000, which I just barely squeaked under that requirement by about $70,000. I love this hospital and would be happy to work with them, although admittedly, most of the time I am there I am on my back and unconscious. But from what I remember about my visits there, they are good.
A question that frequently comes up when I mention in vitro is "Does that mean you guys will be like the Octomom?" In our doctor's conversations about in vitro, not once has she mentioned the word "litter". I don't think I need a bunch of kids at once, because not being a sports person I am not trying to make a "team". Although being a fan of music, a power trio might be nice. We are still hopeful though that the other tricks our doctor is having us do will work, including my junk working right again at some point.
So as we approach another set of fertility appointments, I am getting anxious to hear what the next step will be. Do you remember the old flea circuses on cartoons and stuff? I feel like my swimmers are having to do a sperm circus, because they are constantly washing them and counting them and freezing them and thawing them and who knows what else. All I know, is the toughest thing I have had to do so far is look at dirty magazines. Wait until we have a kid and I tell them all the hardships I went through to create them. I am sure they will want to hear it.
Monday, March 21, 2011
What Kind Of Dog Is That On Your Shoulder?
Last time I mentioned the trip to Florida and how I felt like I was getting back to my old self. This time I will talk about some of the things we did that made me feel that way.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
After dropping off the two stowaway basenjis, we arrived in Bradenton with our two basenjis. After the last trip's debacle and associated Toyota repairs, I was determined to spend more time this trip out from underneath a car. I decided for lunch I was in the mood for Five Guys, which is odd because I hate Five Guys, I mean I hate more than five guys, but I am specifically talking about Five Guys Burgers. So, in honor of that rare moment we decided to stop at Five Guys and grab some burgers for lunch, only to find that Five Guys had a power failure and said that according to health department regulations, they could only sell soft drinks (to be fair, I think only One Guy had a power failure and the other Four Guys had to go along with it). I had been jonesing for a good Vienna Beef hot dog, and not being able to find one, we saw a guy grilling all sorts of tube steaks at a nearby gas station. We grabbed hot dogs and sausages for my wife and I and the owner also gave us a big sausage for the basenjis, something we were weary of feeding to the pork-urping-prone older basenji. We drove to a nearby beach and all four of us ate our lunch, and I am happy to report that no pork was urped up. I had been in town less than an hour and already made it to the beach. This trip was already going a lot better than the last one!
We drove to our friend's house and let ourselves in. Tired and dirty from driving all night, we both immediately collapsed then washed up before our friends came home. Once our friends arrived we immediately played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game. Michael, whom I will talk about because I am sure he will never find enough time to actually read this, has a little bit of an attention problem. The odd part is, he seems to be excellent at his profession, which requires a lot of attention. I think he uses up his attention quota during the day and cannot focus on anything once he gets home. Anyway, discussions on where to eat with Michael usually involve him naming fifteen different restaurants that all sound very good, then you hop in the car and go to a entirely different place he didn't even mention. However, I am not complaining, because his choices are usually very good! We arrived at the Cortez Kitchen to find it completely packed, the first time we have ever seen that. Apparently some TV show had done a story on many of our favorite hidden haunts and now everyone is flocking there. So, we hopped back in the car and headed to a great barbecue place, named Leroy Selmon's or something like that. It's named after some sports guy who played football...or squash...or something, I don't know I don't keep up with sports. Anyway the food was very good, all except the stuff that was so hot it took me five minutes to catch my breath again. But most people aren't as wimpy with spicy food as I am. I was thankful that our friend's house had three bathrooms, because if that stuff was as spicy coming out as it was going in, there was a good chance I would be destroying at least two of them. Luckily for my friend's landlord and my buttockal region, it wasn't.
The next day we decided to take the basenjis for a walk at our favorite beach-side park, then head to the Starfish, a very dog friendly dockside restaurant. Apparently the same TV show that talked about Cortez Kitchen, also talked about the Starfish, because it was packed. Luckily, we got there late and there was a storm rolling in, so it cleared out right as we got there. The basenjis got plenty of attention and we both said "they are an African, barkless, hound..." far more times than we would like to count. Again, we made it back to the house before our friends got off work and played the Where-We-Gonna-Eat-Game again. Once again, Michael got us drooling for all sorts of different foods and restaurants, and once again we wound up at a restaurant that he didn't even mention. However, the reason he picked this restaurant was they had VIENNA BEEF HOT DOGS! The place was called Joey D's and was some great food. While reading the menu, there is a touching story about Joey D and how he wasn't expected to live past thirteen, but lived much longer than that, started this restaurant. What a nice story to read on the back of the menu. Oh, but then he died and his brothers run the place. Well, they could have laid that story out a little better on the back of the menu, but still was an inspirational story for someone trying to sweep all the cancer cobwebs out of his head. There was one small problem there...a computer. I bet you are asking yourself, "What does a computer have to do with food?", and we asked that same question! The waitress told us she would have to wait to put in our appetizers because the computer was froze up. Our thoughts were, unless the cook is a robot, can't you just walk back there and TALK to the cook? Write a note? Put the cheesesticks in the fryer yourself? Show us where you keep them and we will throw them in! Anyway, the computer finally did work...briefly, and we were able to enjoy lots of great food. Then sit there a while. And a little bit more. Tired of sitting. Oh, the computer broke again, and they didn't know how to do the check. They wouldn't be able to split the check either, because that would be stressing her waitress brain too far. Apparently she is an excellent server but terrible at math. Luckily at the last minute, the computer worked and we were able to pay and go back home.
Friday, I got up early and made my way to the flea market. I needed a case for a pair of my sunglasses, now that I have to carry them with me constantly because of my eyeball eye ball. While there I picked up a set of Mexican Train dominoes. I had never heard of this game until my seventy-nine year old friend introduced me to it, all I know is I seem to see it everywhere now, but my wife and I seem to be the only non-AARP members playing it. On the way back to the house I decided to stop at the pawn shop I have had luck at before and the owner recognized me. He's a nice guy, but with each subsequent conversation, I hear more and more stories about our "evil government". In part his manifesto this time, he mentioned that he voted for Obama, which I found odd for someone that not only doesn't want a bigger government, but wants no government at all. I guess, you can be OK with no government at all when your store primarily consists of guns and gold (neither of which I was interested in, by the way). Later for lunch, my wife and I decided to sneak out sans dogs, and eat at a beach restaurant. After driving by a few more places that were apparently also on TV, we finally found one of our hidden restaurants that was still hidden. The food was decent, and it allowed us to take a quick walk on the beach afterwards, as well as let me leave my sister the traditional voice mail of waves crashing on the beach for five minutes and nothing else. We stopped by the Chop Shop, an old fashioned butcher, and grabbed an assortment of steaks for the night. Micheal couldn't change his mind that night since we already had the food bought.
Saturday we dubbed as a "Dog Day Afternoon" and started out in the morning with the four humanoids and the Curly Tailed Mafia (two basenjis and a shiba inu) heading to get gigantic Amish donuts at the Farmer's Market, the only problem is the Amish didn't show. I guess they couldn't get their Mustang started. Maybe it was a Bronco. Whatever the reason, we loaded everyone back up and headed to Bradenton Potato Raised Donuts. Just Michael and I went in and had to perform the marital test Just-Pick-Something-Out-For-Me. This is a very stressful game, especially when you have been married ten years and have never paid any attention to what kind of donuts your wife likes, or what her eye color is, or what her middle name is, or birthday, or any of that other trivial crap. With the total being less that ten dollars, I thought it was silly to split the bill, and I paid for Michael and my order, something I would feel guilty about later on. By the way, I did guess correctly on the donuts.
We then went to the dog beach, where I tested my new metal detector and found a whole twenty six cents! Since my sister gave it to me as a present that was twenty six cents of pure profit! Minus the three dollars for batteries. We finished off the day by stopping at Sarasota's dog friendly Old Salty Dog, where my wife and I played the odd game of thinking we knew someone that might be working there and arguing over whether the people working there were ugly enough to be said person. As we walked into the restaurant, Benny the Basenji was tired of being cooperative, so in an effort to get to our table quicker, I picked up Ben upside down as he did his Spider Pig impression, a position he actually loves being in and will just relax with all four feet stuck straight in the air, looking around perfectly content until you put him down. Apparently, relaxed, upside down Spider Basenjis are not a common sight at the Old Salty Dog (at least not the Sarasota location), because some giggles were heard as I walked between the tables. Being very hungry, and our first time there, my wife and I ordered a LOT of food. This is another thing I would regret. It was good and we didn't get sick, what I regret, is that this was a meal Michael decided to pick up the tab on. To the tune of $93 for the four humans and three dogs (who only had complimentary water and dog biscuits). We certainly wouldn't have ordered that much had we known he was paying for everything. I hope it wasn't a reaction to me picking up the tab on the donuts, because I did that for the exact OPPOSITE reason, because the bill was so small, I didn't think it made sense to split it. At any rate, we are very thankful for Michael's gift, it really wasn't necessary, especially since we had a free room for almost a week.
Overall it was a great trip, and aside from a couple hiccups hauling the two rescue basenjis, I don't think I would have changed any of it. We enjoyed spending time with our friends, Michael and the other one who's name I won't mention in case she doesn't want to be associated with Michael's eccentricities. And like I mentioned last time, I felt like I am finally getting back to my precancer days. And if you are ever in any of the restaurants I mentioned, tell them I sent you. Tell them I am the guy with one testicle. They will have no idea who I am, and they won't give you a discount or anything, but at least they will look at you funny and wonder how you know specifics about my nether region.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Sarasota Redemption
I have been busy lately...and lazy lately, too. We had to make an emergency trip to Florida, which as far as emergency trips go, Florida is not a bad place to emerge. My wife volunteers for a basenji rescue organization, which means I volunteer by proxy. Two basenjis didn't work out at their "forever home" and needed to go back to the foster in Florida.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
When we were first made aware of the situation, we decided we would stay a few extra days and sneak in some rest and relaxation. With only a week to make plans, we called up our friends down there who always say to come down anytime, who told us we couldn't come down then, they had guests already. I thought that was rude, I mean, they have known their mom their whole life and have only known us a few years. Who needs more time to catch up? Regardless, we thought about option two, a friend of mine who loans me his vacation home down there who, without asking me, decided to stay in it himself. So, this left us without a place to stay. I frantically searched the internet all the next day trying to find some options without much luck, at least not in the price range of an unemployed cancer patient. At the end of the day, we were discussing our options when we get the call that we will not be leaving the next week, we need to leave the next day.
The good news, we can stay with our friends, of whom I will now take back the comments I made in the previous paragraph. The bad news, we literally had less than twelve hours to put everything into place. Phone calls were made and we were able to put our plan into motion. The next morning, I met another volunteer and received two very timid and scared basenjis. I brought them home to the house, where they cowered in the corner of their crate. Our oldest basenji immediately walked up and peed on their crate. Not exactly the welcome I was hoping he would give them. Since we had a night of driving ahead of us, I decided to let them look out the sliding glass door from their crate for a little bit while I grabbed a nap.
After waking, I put the crate in the bedroom, so they would feel a little more secure and opened the door expecting them to fly out of their confines. After half an hour, and still no flying, I gave up. I could get the one to eat out of my hand, but not come out of the cage. I continued preparation until my wife returned from work. After another agonizingly long time she was able to coax them out so we could take them to pee before our trip. The female decided to pee in the middle of the hallway, no sense waiting until you get outside. After a very scary trip outside (I am still not sure what was so scary out there, but they were definitely scared of something) we load up the two rescue basenjis and our two basenjis and start our fifteen hour trek. The trip down was fairly uneventful, delivering the two rescues back to their familiar foster where they immediately got back into their old routine. We then made the hour trip down to our friends.
After our last trip to the area, I was a little afraid it would end up the same, me curled up in a ball in pain after hurting myself again. Luckily that didn't happen. The trip went great. We took the Curly Tail Mafia out for some fun (our two basenjis and our friend's shiba inu), we ate at some great places, we had lots of fun with our friends, and snuck out and had some fun on our own too.
In my cancer support group yesterday, I said that week was the first week since all this started that I didn't feel like a cancer patient. I enjoyed myself and feel like this is starting to be behind me. I say that as I stare down and impending scan. I told the group I may "graduate" to the survivors group, but I am going to wait and see how bad my scanxiety is this next time. Maybe Florida was the answer, and if my wife really loved me and cared about my well-being, she would let me move down there. She could come too if she wants.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Is There A Jaco Or A Gretsch In My Future?
As a survivor of testicular cancer, there is a reality I must consider. My junk isn't shooting out the same quality and quantity that it has in the past. Before you leave this page, I will start off by saying this entry does not focus on my junk or its production value. But it is for this reason that my oncologist suggested we see a fertility specialist. He made that comment for two reasons. One, I already mentioned and two, he said that we "need some good news in our lives".
So, we have spent the past two weeks at many doctors' appointments, all of them resulting in the good doctor getting to know my wife in very intimate ways. Each violation is followed by me comparing each examination or test to one of my gastro-intestinal procedures and proclaiming that my tests are much worse (something I will continue to maintain as long as I am male...or at least half male). The ironic part of all of this, is my wife experiences all these doctors' appointments just to be told, that I am probably the issue here. That was kind of a no brainer that the guy with one nut and fresh off chemo wasn't shooting the best quality. But, we have a great doctor and she is confident that we will get pregnant no matter what the cost. We on the other hand are confident that we will get pregnant for under five figures, after that...well, we don't know. I have already asked the billing person at the doctor's office to give us the bills so we can show our little bundle of joy why they are not getting a new car when they turn sixteen and why they will be going to a state university...provided that state university is not a Big Ten university in this state.
The latest foray into the world of fertility involved various medications and injections all experienced by someone that is not me. Something again that I find ironic since I am the problem. It even involved me giving my wife a shot, which for some sadistic reason that I cannot explain, I enjoyed way too much. I will give my wife credit though. If this latest bag of medical tricks worked, that would put our due date right around...Jaco Pastorius' birthday. When my wife pointed that out to me, I reminded her that whatever day our child was born would be Jaco's birthday, because that will be our first born's name. For our kid's sake, I hope it won't be a girl, because Jaco will be an awkward name for a girl.
The doctor explained that the stuff we are doing right now should work, but should the chemo not release its hold on my remaining junk, we would have to switch to a much more expensive option. That led to a conversation in the car. The last resort option the doctor mentioned is a very expensive option, very very expensive. My wife asked what we planned to do if it came down to that as our last option. I said I planned to buy a Brian Setzer Gretsch and order a custom made Paul Reed Smith.
Once, when asked why we didn't have kids yet, my wife made the comment that we were too busy buying ourselves toys to buy toys for a kid. And she was basically correct. I have already accepted that fact that whenever we do get pregnant, my toy buying days for myself will be over for at least twenty years or so. If it comes down to shelling out a possible five figures for the down payment on a kid...then the twenty years worth of raising them...I may just stick to buying myself toys. I now understand why when going to carshows with my buddy, who has three grown children, he points to cars and says "that was my first born" and "that was my second born". I guess he didn't go the same route we did, but what I don't understand is why he points out much more than three cars...good Lord do they really cost that much?
The first time I saw a Setzer Gretsch it was like I was looking through one of those fuzzy filter thingys the movies use. When I saw the price tag, things got even fuzzier. So it has always been a dream instrument of mine. And I received my dream Paul Reed Smith from my family for Christmas this year. A guitar I am absolutely in love with (it's hard to imagine loving anything that much, even a kid). Guitars can have different tones with different shapes, different thicknesses, different electronics, etc. The PRS I was given is a model that is unique to the rest of the PRS line. Eventually I would like to own another nice PRS, but the features I love about my PRS, are not available on any other model, which means I would have to have one special made if I do decide to get another one. And since Paul Reed Smith guitars are ridiculously expensive to begin with, I can only imagine the cost of a custom made one, but yet somehow I think it is still less than the cost of our last ditch procedure should we come to that decision.
However, I don't think it will come down to that decision. Hopefully what we have done already will work, and even if we didn't, we still try that for a year or so, and by then hopefully I will be over the toxic shock from the chemotherapy. I place it all in God's hands. If He wants me to have a kid, I guess He will give us a child. If He wants me to have two guitars, well...I guess the issue I haven't addressed is that if we don't have the big money for the last ditch procedure, then we probably don't have money for expensive guitars either. Maybe I could just win the lottery, then I could afford both...but still not a private school for the kid.
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